


a study in spontaneity

by sunsetozier



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, eddie is 18 and wants to be spontaneous, im proud of me and i love this, outcome: graffiti, richie is an expert at doing stupid shit, the other losers are mentioned but not involved, this is? so cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 10:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16638383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: The Prompt:"I'm really bored and I'm gonna do something crazy, you in?" AU





	a study in spontaneity

**Author's Note:**

> written for the reddie library!! :D

            It’s been on his mind for quite some time now, this odd idea of his.

            He finds it kind of ironic, in a bitter sort of way. The whole point is to try and be spontaneous, isn’t it? To break out of the structured life he’s lived up until now. And sure, one could argue that he has been spontaneous to a certain degree, especially in regard to his friends, but it’s still the same shit every time. Sneak out of his house to hang out at Bill’s, or Richie’s, or Mike’s, or wherever they’ve decided to meet up for the night. Fall asleep? That’s fine, he has an alarm set on his watch to wake him up early enough for him to climb back in through the window, his mother none the wiser. Once, they went to the quarry in the dead of night, which had been pretty spur of the moment and fun, but it never became a regular occurrence. Hanging out with his friends never fails to feel refreshing and new, but that’s not the same as just… doing something, for no reason other than he feels like it.

            Spending months considering how to be more spontaneous does not feel like something a spontaneous person would do, but he has no idea on how else to approach this. The entire summer passed by in a haze of pros and cons lists, weighing the options in his head, trying to figure out how to make it happen. He’s going to be out of his mom’s house and into a dorm room by the end of September, and once they’re out of Derry, his income will be limited – though financial aid will be a big help, covering a majority of his tuition and almost all of his school books. He supposes it won’t be too hard to figure it out, balancing his academic life and the life he chooses to live outside of college. All he has to do is piece together what this other part of life will entail. Now that he’s eighteen, out of high school, and counting down the weeks until the day he’ll hop in a car to drive off to NYU with Beverly, Stan, and Richie, he supposes he should start exploring his options.

            Which is why he’s here, standing in Richie’s backyard at one in the morning, throwing small rocks at his window like he’s living in some shitty romcom. Fall hasn’t hit completely yet, but the summer days are starting to bleed away into colder evenings and chilly nights, and while he may have a warm, black sweatshirt on, about two sizes too big, sleeves past his fingertips and hem almost to his thighs, he can still feel goosebumps rise along his skin. Perhaps he should have traded in his plain jeans for something a bit warmer, as well, but he didn’t think it would be necessary. He isn’t planning on staying outside the whole time. At least, he hopes not. He’s not really sure.

            It would be easier if Richie would just wake the fuck up already, though. Seriously, he’s almost offended at how long this is taking – he knows Richie isn’t a heavy sleeper, and he knows that Richie’s sleep schedule is completely fucked and he’s awake at this time anyway. The fact that Richie didn’t open his window after the first pebble hit the glass is baffling and a little infuriating, if only because it feels a little inconvenient that the one night Richie is asleep at a normal time is the night Eddie needs him awake.

            Huffing out a mixture of an exasperated sigh and an incredulous little laugh, Eddie decides that this isn’t going to get him anywhere and drops the small rock resting against his palm. Tugging the sleeves of his sweatshirt past his fingertips to try and keep his hands warm, he makes his way out of the backyard and rounds the side of the house to clamber up the front porch steps, pausing briefly to dig through the potted plant on the top step to find the spare key hidden inside. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to use the key to get in at ungodly hours – Went and Maggie don’t ask questions, but they both seem to be aware that a lot of Richie’s friends need a place to go sometimes, a place where their own parents can’t bug them, so they’ve never complained about one of the losers showing up in the middle of the night. Despite that, he makes sure to be as quiet as possible as he unlocks the door, spinning around to hide the key again before making his way inside, footsteps light and movements slow to minimize sound, wincing slightly when one of the floorboards creaks underneath his weight.

            As he tiptoes up the stairs, he keeps one hands pressed to the wall to maintain his balance, holding his breath as he goes. Richie’s parents, unlike Richie himself, are actually fairly heavy sleepers, so he’s pretty sure he’s in the clear, but that doesn’t make it any less stressful. By the time he’s able to shoulder open Richie’s bedroom door and close it behind him, holding onto the doorknob and turning it slowly to keep it from clicking, he can’t help but release a slow breath in relief.

            When he turns around, the first thing he notices is the slight haze in the air – cigarette smoke, he notes, the smell making his nose scrunch slightly as he steps forward. He can only see the smoke illuminated by the moonlight shining through the window, offering a very minimal amount of lighting, but he still has to squint to see the other half of the room, eyes taking their time to adjust to the darkness. He steps forward, brows drawn together, and opts to crack the window on his way to Richie’s bed in order to let the smoke start to air out. Once he’s standing next to the mattress, he reaches down, hands trailing over the blankets piled there until his fingers brush against something more solid – squinting to make out the shape, he identifies it as Richie’s left shoulder, which he quickly grips and gently starts to shake, whispering, “Psst, Richie! Wake up.”

            From the mound of blankets, Eddie can hear the tired huff of annoyance, followed by Richie rolling out of his grip and murmuring a muffled, “Hmm?” It’s not a real response, but the lilt at the end is enough to imply the question behind the noise.

            “We’re gonna go do something,” Eddie tells him, not really a demand – if Richie doesn’t want to go anywhere, he’s not going to make him, but he knows it’s enough to make Richie more alert, if only out of pure curiosity and intrigue. For a moment, he gets no reaction, but then Richie lets out a small sigh, the sound almost reluctant as he sticks out an arm and feels around for the lamp on his bedside table. The sudden change in lighting when he flips the lamp on makes Eddie flinch, blinking a few times to get the spots out of his vision, until he’s able to focus his gaze on Richie, who is now squinting up at him from his blanket burrito with pinched together brows and a very slight frown.

            “Explain,” is all he says, voice low and scratchy from sleep.

            Lowering himself to sit on the edge of Richie’s bed, Eddie does just that, albeit quickly and a little bit nervously. His hands clasp together in his lap, his eyes trailing over and focusing on the wall, words falling out in a jumbled mess of sound as he says, “I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve never really done anything that’s actually exciting or spur of the moment and I know it’s probably dumb but I kind of want to do something stupid and you’re the only person who I know would help me with this without trying to talk me out of it or tell me it’s a bad idea.”

            Richie blinks, the action slow, and pushes himself into a sitting position, one hand braced against the mattress to hold himself up and the other rubbing the sleep from his eyes, brows twitching closer together before rising slightly. “Something stupid?” he repeats, sounding a little more awake now. Eddie nods and grabs Richie’s glasses from the table, handing them over when Richie reaches out for them expectantly, offering Eddie a groggy half-smile in gratitude as he places them onto his face and pushes them up the slope of his nose. Now looking at Eddie with wider, more aware eyes, he goes on to ask, “What level of stupid are you looking for?”

            They consider many different ideas as Richie gets ready, throwing on the first pair of jeans he finds and pulling a large sweatshirt on over the shirt he had been sleeping in. Eddie makes it clear that he’s not looking for any sort of potential legal issues, but he definitely wants to pursue something exhilarating, something that will put him on edge and make his heart race. Richie pouts and complains that he was particularly keen on the idea of robbing a bank, which only results in Eddie snorting so hard that he has to muffle his consequential coughing fit that follows after with the palm of his hand. Richie, with a sleepy haze still fogging over his eyes slightly, grins wide as they sneak back downstairs and jokingly whispers, “So, how are we getting out of here? Gonna steal a car?”

            Eddie feels a tug of smug satisfaction in his gut when he pulls his mother’s keys out of his pocket and holds them up for Richie to see, watching as Richie eyes them with mild shock. “One step ahead of you,” he whispers back, snickering lightly when Richie freezes mid step and gapes at him.

            “Wait- are those—?” Richie cuts off, shaking his head, and his grin returns in full force as he moves forward once more, pulling the front door open as quietly as he can manage. “Jesus, you’re really going all out for this, aren’t you? I bet you already figured out what crazy shit we’re heading out to do.”

            “I wanted to,” Eddie admits, slipping through the door and waiting on the porch as Richie pulls it shut and twists the knob to make sure it’s locked. As they hop their way down the steps and cross the lawn to where Eddie parked Sonia’s beaten down Oldsmobile by the curb, he goes on to explain, “But I didn’t want to plan ahead, you know? Kind of ruins the whole… being spontaneous thing.”

            Richie hums, coming to a stop by the passenger door and watching as Eddie rounds the car, propping his elbow on the roof and resting his chin in his hands. When Eddie goes to unlock the vehicle, he glances up and finds Richie’s eyes already on him, causing him to quirk up an eyebrow in silent question. Richie only shrugs a shoulder, saying, “It’s nothing, just… I think I have an idea, but it might be a little too much. I mean, I can convince Stan to do some crazy shit, Bill loves an adventure and Mike has a wild side that you wouldn’t believe, but I don’t think any of them would agree to it. Bev, maybe, if she’s feeling especially crazy, and Ben would probably come along if she bat her eyelashes at him and said please, but not the others, so I don’t know how you would feel about it. Not good, I don’t think.”

            It’s enough to make Eddie afraid to ask for more details, but he can’t deny the way that curiosity bubbles hot and insistent beneath his skin. He maintains eye contact with Richie for a long moment, considering how to respond, lips pursed in thought. “Could we get arrested for it?” he winds up asking, because that’s his only real concern here – he wants adventure, but he’s not gonna risk prison because of it. Richie smiles coyly, brows twitching up, and lifts his free hand to make a _little bit_ sign with his thumb and pointer finger. Not particularly comforting, but he supposes he can ask for more details along the way, so he doesn’t push it quite yet, only unlocking the car and quickly instructing, “Get in,” instead.

            “You are full of surprises tonight,” Richie states, eyes sparkling, before pulling open the passenger door and sliding into the seat. The words make Eddie smile proudly.

            The idea Richie has is surprisingly not as bad as Eddie had imagined. Stupid, definitely, and they could be arrested if they get caught, but for no more than a night, and Richie promises that Bill owes him a favor and would have no choice but to bail them out if it comes to that. Eddie’s skin prickles anxiously as he weighs it in his mind, but this is what he wants, the slight risk and the adrenaline rush and the feeling of doing something he knows he shouldn’t, so he only nods and allows Richie to instruct him on where to go, until they’re out of Derry entirely and headed to Portland. Won’t be back until a little before noon, that’s what Eddie thinks, but he left a note for his mom saying he had to go help Stan with something for when she wakes up. If all goes well, Sonia will remain none the wiser to their little escapade. Upset with Eddie for taking her car without asking her, sure, but a little bit of kiss-ass behavior and sugary-sweet _I’m sorry_ ’s and he’ll be back on her good side in a flash. Which is good, because he still needs to use her car to get around town faster until they leave for NYU in a little over a month. Richie thinks there’s nothing wrong with being a legal adult and riding a bike to the quarry. Eddie disagrees.

            About a half hour out of the city, they cross a small looking convenience store that’s surprisingly still open and stop to see if they sell what they’re looking for. “You’d be surprised what tiny places like this have,” Richie tells Eddie when he voices his observation of the size of the establishment. “Besides, if they don’t have ‘em, there’s plenty of other places to look. Worth a shot.” Eddie doesn’t exactly have the necessary knowledge under his belt to argue against that, so he simply takes the key out of the ignition and follows Richie inside. Surprisingly enough, the little shop does have what they want, and a mere ten minutes later they’re hopping back in the car with two plastic bags filled with a small assortment of spray paint. Something about feeling the weight in his hands makes a lump form in his throat, the reality of the situation becoming much heavier on his chest. Richie seems to sense the change, turning to him once they’re both in the car again and asking, “Are you sure you’re up for this? Because there’s other stupid shit we could do. Like, skinny dipping in the quarry? Haven’t done that yet, that’d be pretty idiotic. Or we could light something on fire. Something small, containable, but still thrilling, you know? Or, maybe—”

            “Stop,” Eddie interrupts, trying to conceal the trembling in his hands by pressing them to the steering wheel. Part of him wants to turn the car around, drive back to Derry and pretend he never got this far, but the other part of him is elated with being here. He looks out the windshield, and he sees the moon, the faint twinkling of stars, and he thinks about how long he spent considering doing something like this. The hours and the days wasted on regretting how simple he was living his life when he could be doing something more fun, something memorable and great. Swallowing thickly, he allows himself to relax, lips twitching up into a small smile, and when he withdraws a hand to start the car, it’s no longer shaking. Throwing Richie a quick glance, he nods once, feeling certain, and says, “Let’s do it.”

            They choose an abandoned building on the edge of the city, because this is something stupid, yes, but not something reckless. There’s already plenty of graffiti decorating the white brick walls – not plastering it, no, because it’s a newly abandoned building and therefore a fairly fresh canvas, but enough to establish that what they’re doing isn’t _too_ unusual and they won’t be, like, shot in the head for doing it if a police officer happens to turn the corner or something. That helps ease the last of Eddie’s worries as they park the car in a fairly empty lot about a block away and walk to the alley they drove by a few minutes prior, and by the time they’re tying the cheap bandana’s they bought around their heads to cover their mouths and selecting the color of paint they’re going to start out with, he thinks he’s feels some kind of excitement buzzing through his veins. His hands shake again, but in a good way this time. That doesn’t stop Richie from giving him a once over and asking, “You still sure?”

            Eddie nods, and beneath his bandana, he grins. “Fucking positive.”

            “Be still, my beating heart,” Richie murmurs, his own grin hidden by his own bandana, but crinkles form by the corners of his eyes, magnified by his glasses, that give him away. Shaking the can in his hand to mix the paint inside, he steps forward, Eddie standing behind him, and scans over the wall in contemplation, trying to pinpoint where he wants to start. Once he comes to some sort of conclusion, he looks back at Eddie and puts on a strange kind of announcer voice that echoes down the alleyway, saying, “Alright, folks, we’ve got two contestants, eight colors of spray paint, and approximately thirty minutes before it becomes too risky to stay put unless they want to spend their night in the slammer. Are we ready?” Eddie rolls his eyes, but follows his lead, shaking up his own can and stepping forward, shoulder brushing against Richie’s as he does so. When they meet eyes, Eddie can see the glint of ecstasy in Richie’s gaze, reflecting in the blue there like moonlight on the ocean, and he can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he knows that doing this is the right choice, consequences be damned. With that thought, he nods once, curt and quick, causing Richie to turn back to the wall and start to count down, “Three... two... one... and—!”

            “GO!” Eddie shouts, probably far too loud for someone who doesn’t want to be caught. The noise makes Richie jump in shock and then giggle under his breath as both of them lunge forward – Eddie to the left, Richie to the right, giving each other enough space to let their minds get creative with the expanse of wall in front of them – and Eddie feels high on the feeling, his heart thundering in his chest as he pushes down on the little nozzle and watches the dark blue paint he selected hit the wall in a steady stream, coating the surface. The sight is addicting, watching it cover the older graffiti and the plain white bricks beneath, and he doesn’t even blink when the paint gets on his fingers, his hands, even somehow sneaking beneath his sleeves to smudge against his wrist and the curve of his arm. There’s no thought that goes into it, his actions completely instinctual, hands moving of their own accord. He switches colors a few times, laughs when he hears a shout and looks over to see Richie accidentally sprayed some of the paint into his hair, and steps back fifteen minutes later to examine the finished product.

            Eddie is not an artist. He knows that, has known it since he was a kid and got frustrated over the complication of getting a stick figure on the page. It’s evident now, in the messy lines and unclear image, but he finds beauty in it anyway, appreciating his half assed attempt at ocean waves and a paper boat gliding across the water. Richie whistles when he sees it, sounding genuinely impressed as he says, “Damn, Eds. Where’d you pull that from?”

            “Dunno,” Eddie answers honestly, reaching up to tug the bandana down, until he can heave in a deep breath of the crisp night air. Sunrise hasn’t hit quite yet, but he thinks it must be getting close – it had been nearly four when they stopped at that store and bought the paint. Maybe, if they don’t hit any early morning traffic, they’ll be back in town before nine. The bandana stays bunched up around his neck, keeping the skin warm there, and he can’t help but let out a content hum at the odd feeling hanging over him. The adrenaline has cooled down, eased back into something softer, quieter but still there, and the air is cold but not cold enough to make him shiver. He can feel paint still drying on his skin, but he can’t be bothered to care about that as he tears his eyes away from his art and looks at what Richie painted, the air in his lungs being punched out of him at the sight, letting out an airy, “ _Oh.”_

            “Yeah,” is all Richie says, pulling down his own bandana and visibly fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt, gaze glued to the ground. Eddie blinks once, a little slow, and scans over it again, taking in the curve of the letters, the way the colors seem to blend together, forming something big and grand despite being so simple and small. In a mixture of pink, purple and blue, Richie has simply written _LOUD AND PROUD_ across the wall, as well as a messy outline of a middle finger being held in the air.

            Richie has not been subtle about maybe not being heterosexual, but he’s never explicitly stated otherwise prior to now, often leaving Eddie in a state of confusion when the jokes seem a little too serious and the touches linger a little too long. Eddie has to swallow roughly when a lump forms in his throat, eyes sliding over to take in Richie’s hunched over shoulders, watching as he timidly scuffs the toe of his shoe against the cement. A laugh bubbles in his chest as his eyes land on the speckles of pink paint littering Richie’s hair, the color bright, glimmering in the moonlight. Richie only stiffens when he hears the sound, eyes squeezing shut and lower lip getting trapped between his teeth. Assuming the worst, most likely. The laugh dies off quick and Eddie drops the can of paint still in his hand to step forward, closer to Richie, breathing out, “No, no, no, I’m not- Richie, that’s _great._ I’m not laughing at that, I promise.”

            The sound of the can hitting the pavement is a little too sudden, a little too loud, making both of them flinch, but neither of them pays it much attention when Richie’s eyes flutter open once more, gaze landing on Eddie, reflecting uncertainty. “What are you laughing at, then?”

            “You look like a fucking idiot,” Eddie tells him, eyes flickering up to look at the paint once more, and he can’t help it – he snickers again at the way it looks, raising a hand to pull a strand of paint covered hair forward and into Richie’s line of sight, showing him what he’s talking about. His nose crinkles when he sees the paint on his hands, laughing a little harder, and sees Richie giggle along as he releases Richie’s hair and whines, “Shit, this is gonna take forever to get off, isn’t it? Fuck.”

            “A lot of hot water and scrubbing your skin raw, yeah,” Richie confirms, reaching forward to take ahold of Eddie’s wrists and examining how much paint is on his palms. “Jesus, how did you even get this much on you? It’s like you dipped your hands in a fucking bucket of paint or something.”

            Eddie scoffs, twisting one of his hands out of Richie’s grip in order to flick at the pink painted hair still hanging in Richie face, exclaiming, “Oh, like you’re one to talk! Are you even gonna be able to get this out or am I gonna have to cut your hair for you? Like when you got an entire pack of gum stuck in there back in sixth grade, fucking dumbass.”

            He expects a snarky quip in response, but Richie just tightens his hold on Eddie’s wrist slightly and hums in amusement, eyes dancing with something bright and unfamiliar. Eddie scans over his features, slightly confused, and then narrows down on a spot of paint hiding in plain sight with the freckles on Richie’s left cheek. Brows twitching together in concentration, he raises his free hand to wipe the spot away, only the paint on his thumb has yet to dry and the action just causes more paint to smear on Richie’s skin, making him curse under his breath. Richie snorts. “Did you just—?”

            “I didn’t mean to,” Eddie tells him quickly, glaring down at his own thumb in betrayal . “You had paint on your face, I was gonna get it off, but—”

            “But you got more on, instead,” Richie finishes, openly laughing now, shoulders shaking slightly with the motion. He releases Eddie entirely and steps back, head bobbing with an overdramatic nod. “Alright, alright. If that’s how you want to play it, then fine. Takes two to tango, pal.”

            Wiping his hands on his own jeans, Eddie laughs out a semblance of a snicker and shakes his head, musing, “Oh, so we’re dancing now, are we?” He absently notes that getting the paint out of his clothes will probably be harder than washing it off his skin, but he can’t be bothered to care as he turns his head to add something else, only to be interrupted by the hiss of the spray paint, and he watches, confused, as Richie coats his fingers with bright red paint and calmly sets the can back on the ground. Brows twitching together, Eddie follows Richie as he walks back to where he had been standing before, a mere two feet away, and asks, “What are you doing?”

            Richie grins, toothy and wide, and cheerily answers, “This,” before reaching over to smear the red paint on the side of Eddie’s face with a gleeful expression. Eddie feels his jaw drop, frozen to the spot as Richie drops his hand and properly _cackles,_ head thrown back and chest heaving in deep breaths as he does so. For a moment, Eddie can’t think of how to react, caught between some kind of retaliation – he could scoop up the can of light blue paint by his feet and get revenge in the span of two seconds – and simply watching the way Richie laughs, appreciating the view. Richie wheezes, faces Eddie with glimmering eyes, and is only able to get out, “God, your _face—”_ before Eddie makes his choice.

            The can remains on the ground, untouched and already forgotten as Eddie lunges forward on instinct, the mixture of paint that's not yet dried smudging on the soft skin of Richie’s cheeks as Eddie presses his palms to them and pulls him in, guiding his head closer, closer, until their lips brush together lightly, the touch barely there. Eddie freezes here, waits, feels the brush of air against his skin when Richie releases a shocked, shaky breath. From this proximity, he can see every different shade of blue in Richie’s eyes, can count the freckles dotting his nose. Richie stares at him, wide-eyed and frozen, his laugh having died on his tongue the moment he felt Eddie’s hands on him, and Eddie simply stares back, patient.

            “Another something stupid?” Richie asks, releases a new laugh, kind of shrill and forced and nervous. Eddie shakes his head slightly, their noses bumping together with the action, and lightly trails a thumb over Richie’s bottom lip, unknowingly leaving behind some more paint there.

            “Spontaneous,” Eddie corrects simply, softly. “Not stupid.”

            Richie swallows roughly, the sound audible and loud in the quiet space surrounding them, and barely manages a slight nod of his head before surging forward to close the space between them. The kiss tastes like toothpaste and paint and bliss, and Eddie’s heart thuds in his chest, heavy and quick and thrilling, while Richie raises his hands to curl around Eddie’s jaw, paint covered fingers pressed against the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. They don’t part for a long time, only doing so when they hear the distance sound of a car engine, reminding them of where they are and what they’re doing. Even then, pulling away from one another is reluctant and slow, hands staying put, fingers tracing patterns into jawlines and cheekbones. “We should go,” Richie tells him, voice taking on that same gravely sound it had when Eddie had shaken him away, only now it’s not a product of sleep. “Before we get caught.”

            Unable to stop himself, Eddie kisses Richie again, a chaste press of lips and a rumbling hum of content, then pulls back with a grin, this time dropping his hands to his sides and backing away. “Get caught for what?” he asks, cheeky and light. “Vandalism, or public indecency?”

            Choking out another laugh, Richie looks at Eddie again, softer edges and wider eyes and warmer features and a gentle smile, and Eddie comes to the conclusion that he is going to have two lives when he leaves Derry – his academic life, which will turn into his work life after graduation, and whatever life he deems fit for the time being – and he is going to love them both, so long as he has Richie to keep him on the edge of his seat.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what u think and feel free to hmu on tumblr @ lo-v-ers :D <3


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